


If Mine, Then Yours, and so All Yours

by Slenderlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baby Hamish!, Biologically both of theirs? Use whatever baby headcanon you like, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, it's so fluffy I'm gonna die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:58:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slenderlock/pseuds/Slenderlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home from Afghanistan a few weeks early to reunite with Sherock and a baby Hamish. So much cute your teeth will rot from the inside out and toothpaste companies will ban you from ever using their products.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Mine, Then Yours, and so All Yours

Mycroft had probably planned it, John figured. He’d had another three weeks to go until he was scheduled to return from Afghanistan, but he’d been given an early leave. And so now here he stood, in front of the door to 221B, nearly three weeks earlier than planned. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

There was a pause, in which John considered knocking for a second time, before someone came treading down the stairs. The door opened and Mrs. Hudson looked up at him. She gave a small squeak, hand flying to the doorframe for support as she gaped openly at John.

“Ooh, Dearie!” she said, stumbling backwards. “You- you’re early!” John smiled. She clapped her hands together and hugged him around the middle, beaming. “Oh, you gave me a fright, you did,” she scolded. “Don’t you go doing that again, you hear me? I’ve had more than enough surprises from you two.”

John laughed. “Sorry about that. Um- is Sherlock here? Did he take a case or something?”

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. “Oh, no, he’s here,” she assured him, then pointed up the stairs. “He’s up with that brother of his,” she said. The tone of her voice on the word ‘brother’ showed exactly how much respect she held for Mycroft. John smiled and nodded.  
“Thank you so much- I’ve missed you,” he told her. “Afghanistan doesn’t have much in the way of housekeepers.”  
“Landlady, dear,” she reminded him sternly. And he’s missed you, too.” Mrs. Hudson gave him a wink. “Up you go, then.”  
John pecked her on the cheek before carefully walking up the steps, trying not to make a sound.  
“Why are you here, Mycroft?” Sherlock was saying, in an acidic tone. “What do you want?”

“I am merely ensuring that you are well,” Mycroft replied, sounding rather bored. John wondered to himself exactly what Mycroft was doing here. He pushed open the door and quietly made his way through the rooms until he found the living room. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, looking pale and gaunt as ever and staring daggers at Mycroft, who was sat on the sofa. John noted with a bit of fondness that his own chair remained untouched. Sherlock’s hand was dangling unseen in a small playpen by the side of his chair. John’s heart leapt.

He took the opportunity to drop his bag by the doorway, clearing his throat in a manner that suggested he was drawing the attention of a room of new privates in need of training.

Both Holmes brothers whipped around to look at him. Mycroft held a satisfied expression, and John instantly knew that it had been planned all along, that Mycroft had known. He made a mental note to force Sherlock to do Mycroft a few favors from now on.

“John!” Sherlock stood, eyes wide, and stumbled over the various objects scattered over the floor to wrap his arms around John, lifting him a bit off the ground.

“All right- all right, Sherlock-” John stammered, hugging Sherlock back.

“I didn’t think you’d be here for at least another two weeks,” Sherlock said, weakly. He set John back down, carefully, and looked him over. “You’re injured,” he noted, with a bit of worry.

“Just a graze,” John said, holding up his arm. “It’ll heal pretty quickly, don’t worry.”

“Still. It is an injury.” Sherlock’s eyes were hard, before he seemed to remember something. “John- come here.” He retreated to his chair, where the playpen was sitting. Lying inside of it was a small baby, with a tuft of wavy black hair. Sherlock carefully lifted the baby out of the pen, cradling it gently. The baby gurgled, looking up at Sherlock with wide, deep blue, eyes.

John was drawn towards the infant by a seemingly supernatural force, reaching out an arm towards it.

“Can I hold him?” he asked. Sherlock nodded, and deposited the child into John’s arms. The baby, upon seeing John’s face, broke into a smile, giggling and reaching up.

“He’s beautiful,” John breathed. He lowered a hand down in front of the baby, which quickly clasped onto a finger with one of its tiny fists. “He’s _beautiful._ ”

 

The baby brought John’s finger to its mouth and gnawed on it, looking up at him. John smiled.

“Do you want to feed him?” Sherlock asked, gently. John nodded, wordlessly, and Sherlock retreated to the kitchen.

“So,” Mycroft said, and John looked up, a bit startled. He’d forgotten Mycroft was in the room.

“So,” John said, looking back down at the baby. “Has he been doing all right?” he asked, quietly. Mycroft sighed.

“He’s been doing better than I believe either of us expected of him.” Mycroft twirled his umbrella lazily. “Your letters certainly helped.”

John nodded. The sound of the microwave finishing echoed from the kitchen, and Sherlock returned with a small bottle. He attached the rubber tip and passed it to John. John carefully retracted his finger from the baby’s mouth and prodded the bottle at its lips. The baby latched onto the tip of the bottle, grabbing it with both hands. John watched in fascination as the baby suckled at the tip, its eyes closing in concentration.

“Why are you here, Mycroft?” Sherlock repeated, a little more venomously.

“I merely wished to ensure that everything went well,” Mycroft said, evenly.

“You thought something would go wrong?” Sherlock spat.

Mycroft sighed. “Call it sentiment, if you must.”

Sherlock sat back. “I see.”

They fell silent, listening to the sounds of the baby sucking and John gently cooing at it.

“Take care of them,” Mycroft said, quietly. “Both of them.”

“Of course I will,” Sherlock said, defensively.

“You know what I mean.” Mycroft gave Sherlock a pointed look. “You do have a tendency to get… reckless.”

Sherlock fell silent, not looking at anything.

“Goodbye, brother. I wish you two the best.” Mycroft rose and slung his umbrella over his shoulder before walking swiftly out of the room.

“Well,” John said, looking up. “That was a bit… pointlessly dramatic. Even for Mycroft.”

Sherlock leapt of the chair and knelt by John’s side, looking at the baby. “That’s right, Hamish,” he said, very seriously. “Don’t you ever try to be like uncle Mycroft, you understand?”

At the sound of his name, the baby released the tip of the bottle and giggled, reaching out towards Sherlock.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice, act 3, scene 2. The full quote goes: _"One half of me is yours, the other half yours. Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, and so all yours."_
> 
> Also this is apparently set in a universe where babies are perfect and do not scream or cry or throw up or burp or do anything that can't be immediately labeled "cute".


End file.
